


Rules of Survival

by fauxpas



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22442029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauxpas/pseuds/fauxpas
Summary: Cal crash landed on Bracca and was able to hide for five years. A brief glimpse of what Cal did while hiding under the nose of the Empire.
Relationships: Cal Kestis & Prauf
Comments: 2
Kudos: 87





	Rules of Survival

It had been just over two weeks since he had crash landed on Bracca’s surface. Two weeks since hunger drove him to leave the escape shuttle and his master temporarily behind in a search for food and water on the planet’s grey, desolate surface. The dark memories of the last few days had temporarily subsided, as his mind switched from grief to survival. He could not be rescued or return to the Jedi Order if he was dead. He had to tell the council what had happened to Master Tapal and the clone troopers... He needed food.  
  
Cal Kestis stumbled out of the shuttle. His body was sore and his chin burned from the blaster shot he received during the escape. He shook out his limbs, and began the trek in what he hoped would be an area of civilization. The time he had spent in the orbit of Bracca reminding him that natural resources were scarce at best, so his best bet would be finding a hub or township for the resident scrappers and engineers of the planet. It was his only hope at finding help and sustenance.   
  
He carefully picked his way through the husk of the old Republic ship they had landed on, awkwardly climbing through exposed ducts, scaling the underbelly, and finally sliding down a slope of sheet metal to reach the small, lit area of civilization he noticed on his way down. It was a small hub, one that hosted a couple short lines of shops, bars, and the like for the many inhabitants and employees that resided on the planet he had been driven onto.   
  
A wave of relief wash over him and Cal entered the hub. People of all races going about their lives walked the area. Hopefully someone here could help him.   
  
“It’s such a shame the Jedi turned on the Senate like they did. Weren’t they supposed to be peacekeepers?”  
  
Cal froze in his tracks.  
  
“A real tragedy. The power must’ve gotten to them. It’s a good thing their clone troopers were able to stop them.”  
  
 _Wha-what…?  
  
_ “Do you think this will affect our pay? What with the new Senate and all?”  
  
Cal started to reach out to the pair of workers that he overheard, only to stop. A fresh poster stuck to the wall of the building opposite of him stood out amongst the grime that covered every building.  
  
 _Jedi Order betrays the Senate._ _  
_ _Report all suspicious activity to the nearest enforcement personnel._ _  
_ _The Galactic Empire thanks you for your service.  
_   
“The Galactic Empire?” Cal muttered to himself. He took a step back, bumping into a passerby and falling to the ground.  
  
Cal picked himself up off the ground, too shocked at the strange, new information he was seeing to apologize quick enough.  
  
Another flash of white caught his eye as he turned to face the settlement again. S torm troopers marched through the street on patrol. Their stark figures, so out of place with the environment of Bracca, sent a chill down Cal’s spine. He quickly ducked into a nearby alley and behind a stack of old crates as the pair crossed his path. _They were shooting at his master… he heard them from the maintenance halls. Why were they attacking us? What had changed?_ He could feel his breath start to catch and stutter as memories began to bubble up of just two days prior.  
  
Cal swallowed down on the knot in his throat and fought to keep himself in the now. If everything is true, and the Jedi were being hunted, he could not lose himself to memory. Not right now at least. Right now, he needed food and more information.  
  
His stomach growled. Food first, information second.  
  
Cal peeked out of the alley, checking for the troopers. They must have turned a corner. He didn’t see any of their white armor along the street. Cal slipped out of the alley and made his way deeper into the settlement.  
  
While a shopkeeper was bartering with a local, he swiped a piece of fruit from the stall, and hurried into another alley. Cal quickly took a bite from his prize, the juicy flesh extremely ripe and sweet and he had to keep himself from spitting it out. His first bite of food in days, and it was all he could do to keep it down. Tears welled up in his eyes as everything once again crashed into the forefront of his mind.  
  
His master was dead. He was being hunted by the Galactic Empire he had only just heard of. Panic wracked him as the foundation of his life had been turned on its head and shaken with extreme prejudice.  
  
Cal forced himself to finish the fruit he had taken. He couldn’t waste it. Not after he had stolen it from a civilian shopkeeper.  
  
He quickly retreated back up to the escape shuttle. Master Tapal’s lightsaber was still there… and he would have to find a way to give him a proper funeral pyre. The thought almost brought his food back up, but he swallowed it down.  
  
As the sun set, Cal returned to the escape shuttle. His arms hurt, and he was hungry again.  
  
Opening the shuttle door, he was hit with the scent of death. Cal’s meager fruit from earlier threatened to come back as he looked to his master’s body. His master’s face was pale, his heels and hands had darkened, and his torso bloated. How? How had he missed this while he was hiding in the shuttle with his master the last few days?!  
  
Cal quickly grabbed his master’s lightsaber, tore into the operations console of the shuttle, and got to work on igniting a spark through the still live wires. He needed to send his master off properly. It was his job to do so, as he had failed to follow orders fast enough for them both to escape alive. He could not let his master be found or leave his body to rot. Cal couldn’t bring himself to disrespect his master any more than he already had.  
  
As the sun rose, Cal watched the smoke rise from the escape shuttle. Silent tears traced paths down his face.  
  
“I’m s-sorry Master,” Cal whispered. “I failed you. If I had been faster… a b-better student… you’d still be here. I should have saved you, but instead… instead…”  
  
He looked down at Tapal’s damaged lightsaber. A quick motion, and the blade lit up. The familiar blue light and hum brought a brief sense of comfort before Cal brought the blade up past his face and swiftly cut upwards.  
  
Cal caught the long, thin padawan braid in his free hand. “The Jedi are being hunted Master. I can’t stay here and hope for rescue. Nowhere is safe… no one is safe… I will only trust in the Force.”  
  
Two weeks later, Cal was caught by one of the shopkeepers for stealing food and turned into the local law enforcement.   
  


* * *

  
He couldn’t believe how lucky he had been. A quick lie about being an orphan dumped on Bracca had kept him from being executed as a member of the Jedi Order. A stroke of luck - if he could call it that - had landed him not dead or in prison, but handed over the Scrapper’s Guild as a cheap source of labor that could get into the small nooks and crannies of the ships that rested in the work yards. He’d be under strict supervision and a restricted income to cover the costs of what he’d stolen from the Empire. A full year of probation before he’d be formally inducted into the guild as a scrapper.  
  
Cal learned quickly, followed orders, and kept his head down. He did not want to draw more attention to himself than he had already.  
  
Over the months, he learned how to dismantle all types of hardware present on ships. He learned how to keep live munitions from blowing up in his face so he could hand them over to the Empire, learned how to peel a ship apart with his tools and bare hands, and most importantly, how to survive the harsh life as a Bracca scrapper while drawing minimal attention to himself.   
  


* * *

  
“Sign here… and here,” A guild droid ordered, holding out a tablet.   
  
This was it. A year had passed, and Cal had survived the probation period with the Scrapper’s Guild. He was thirteen, and becoming a proper member of the guild. His debt was finally paid off in the eyes of the Empire.   
  
“Report to Foreman SF-082 at site X3261 tomorrow morning for your assignment, Rigger Kestis. You are to be there at 0500,” the droid said before turning away from the former padawan, and leaving the boy to his work.   
  
Cal heaved a sigh of relief. Some of the nearby scrappers grinned at him before returning to their work. Cheell, a Rodian that had warmed up to Cal after some months of working in close proximity, gave him a quick pat on the back before they both went back to opening up the starship wing they had been spending the last couple days inside.   
  
Cheell had become a small source of comfort he allowed for himself over the last year. She taught him simple tricks of the trade and how to use the tools that now took permanent residence on his work belt. Cal had to admit, that without her, he would not have been able to adapt as smoothly as he had. He couldn’t bring himself to trust her though. The anti-Jedi and Republic sentiment had continued to grow during his time on Bracca, and as such, he had become more and more withdrawn as time went on. The remnants of his padawan robes were quickly swapped for clothes that were tighter in fit and didn’t dangle in his work space, and thick work gloves to keep his hands from direct contact with anything. He couldn’t risk an echo in the Force outing him to the guild and Empire, and building close connections with others would get him killed.   
  
Cal had settled into his role as a scrap rat during his probation. He did what he was told so as to avoid standing out. He shoved his grief to the back of his mind, begrudgingly accepting his new life. He trusted no one to help him should his secret be revealed. And the Force was to be left in the past.   
  
Master Tapal’s final lesson faded from his mind as survival took precedence. Only in the privacy of his small living quarters did he even entertain the fantasy of reclaiming the Jedi temples with any of the surviving Jedi Council. But he knew that’s all it was, a fantasy, to keep him going through harder nights on Bracca. Cal knew Bracca would be his grave as much as it was his master’s.   
  


* * *

  
“Rigger Prauf, wait here,” the foreman droid ordered as the second morning shift clocked in for the day. “You are to oversee the new rigger, Cal Kestis.”   
  
Prauf looked surprised at this. A new rigger? What sad soul had agreed to join their ranks? Sure, the pay was better, but with it came the more dangerous assignments. They had lost a rigger not even a month ago, and the guild found a replacement? That was quick.   
  
“Of course, sir.”   
  
The Abednedo stood by the foreman droid as the others clocked in. A few minutes past, and a small human walked up to droid. The kid barely came up to his waist.   
  
“Rigger Kestis reporting for duty sir,” the boy said.   
  
No way?! This kid was the new rigger the guild was giving him? What happened to this kid’s parents?   
  
“You will work under the supervision of Rigger Prauf until further instruction.”   
  
“Yes sir.”   
  
The droid turned from Cal to Prauf. “Get to work,” it shooed them away.   
  
“Alright; follow me kid,” Prauf agreed. He turned and headed to where he was working the previous day. A quick glance behind him showed the kid was following.   
  
They boarded a small shuttle up to scaffolding secured to the side of the ship. The boards of wood and metal shook under their footsteps, as Prauf led the young human to the life lines and clipped himself into one before offering another to the kid.   
  
“Strap yourself in. Can’t have you falling into the maw.”   
  
Cal quietly grabbed the line and clipped it to his own harness before looking back up at Prauf.   
  
“Good. Now, see that stretch of naked underbelly,” Prauf asked, gesturing towards his work from the previous day. “We’ll be pulling that sheet metal back, and then we’ll be working our way into the ventilation system. We’re looking for filters and circulation units that’ll be refitted for the Empire’s ships. I’ll show you what we’re looking for as we come to them.”   
  
“Yes sir,” Cal murmured.   
  
“Just Prauf is fine. Save the ‘sirs’ for the Foreman,” he joked, holding out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you Kestis.”   
  
Cal hesitated before slowly reaching out to shake Prauf’s hand. When an echo didn’t reach out to him, he tightened his grip a little mid shake. “I’m Cal.”   
  
After the quick handshake, they got to work scaling the starship. It was over fifty meters of climbing to reach their destination, and when they did, the pair began cutting into the inner hull. The hum and buzz of their tools filled the air.   
  
“So Cal, you seem a bit young to be doing this kind of work. How’d you get mixed up in all this?” Prauf asked after a time of silent working. “I mean, I’m no expert, but aren’t you still a kid?”   
  
Cal gave him a quick glance and a silent nod. “I don’t have anywhere else to go. My ma-” Cal caught himself, giving a firm head shake to himself. “My father died last year, and there’s no age limit in the Scrapper’s Guild. Food doesn’t just give itself away, so…”   
  
“I’m sorry Cal. I didn’t mean to-”   
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Cal rushed. “I… I’m trying not to think about it, ya know?”   
  
“Alright kid.”   
  
They continued to work in silence for a time, Prauf occasionally glancing over at Cal. A sense of protectiveness settled on his shoulders. He’d do what he could to help this kid out and take him under his metaphorical wing. No child should be forced to work like this after losing his family.   
  
Together, they cut an entryway into the hull large enough for Prauf to fit through. The older rigger had to admit that Cal was doing incredibly well in his work. He hadn’t slipped or lost his footing while holstered hundreds of meters above ground, and he had an innate sense of balance and confidence in his movements for someone so young . Maybe he’d be okay out here for a while. At least until he was able to save up enough and get off this soggy rock.   
  
As they stepped into the ventilation chamber of the old Republic ship, Prauf opened his arms is a sweeping gesture. “This is the ventilation system of a Republic venator class ship. I don’t know how much you know about ship engineering, but this is a pinnacle of air circulation and recycling in the former Republic fleet, capable of maintaining optimal breathing conditions for thousands of workers, soldiers, and diplomats. Now, while we’re in here, we’ll be looking for specific filters and circulation units to sell to Empire; give us a little extra score. The rest, we’ll be hauling to either recycling or feeding it to the maw. Any questions?”   
  
“I’ve been scrapping for almost a year,” Cal replied, fiddling with his still connected life line. “You don’t have to supervise me if it slows you down.”   
  
“Nonsense! Knowing a bit of engineering is key to making a better life for yourself here on Bracca. If you can fix something up, it’ll be worth more credits to Empire, which means you won’t have to spread your credits as thinly to feed yourself and pay your rent.”   
  
“But don’t you need to survive as well?” Cal asked sceptically. He hadn’t expected to be paired up with such a friendly and talkative scrapper. Most of the other workers hadn’t paid him much mind after the first couple weeks of him working for the guild, and it had taken months for Cheell to approach him for something more than crawling through a small duct. “What do you get out of helping me?”   
  
“Honestly Cal, it gives me a sense that I’m still doing what I love,” he admitted. “I’m an engineer, but in the last year, the Empire has been pushing more of us hired during the Republic into the scrapping end of the business. I’ve taken apart ships that I used to fix and build during the Republic. Give this old Abednedo and moment to relive his glory days?”   
  
“Yeah, yeah. I can do that.” Cal gave his partner a small smile. He could understand wanting to return to days long past, and if teaching him some engineering would help, he’d listen. The lessons would benefit him just as much as Prauf, so it wouldn’t be too bad. “And you’re not that old Prauf.”   
  
“Flattery will get you everywhere kid!” He laughed, ruffling Cal’s hair.   
  
Prauf pulled out a small holo-projector and turned on the schematics of the ship. “So we came in here, and about 10 meters up that way,” he motioned behind him to Cal. “We should find our first filter sheet. If the Clone Wars and the ship’s transport to Bracca didn’t break the frame, we should have our first bit of score.”   
  


* * *

  
“Cal, is that you?”   
  
The young man turned off his cyber knife, and pulled off his headphones. Looking down from his slim scaffold, his initial curiosity quickly changed to excitement. “Prauf! I didn’t know you were being transferred to this wreck!” He secured his tools and capped the wire he was working on before repelling down to the main deck the team was working on.   
  
“Kid what happened to you? You shot up like a creeper vine!”   
  
“You say that every time! It’s only been seven months since I last worked with you Prauf.”   
  
“Well yeah, but now you’re past my shoulder! When are you gonna stop growing?”   
  
The friendly banter was a welcome reprieve for the couple minutes they had it. As the foreman droid came to check on the workers, and they were ushered back to their respective jobs.   
  
“Let’s meet after this shift. Have a drink and catch up.”   
  
“Alright Prauf. I’ll meet you at the train station.”   
  
As the dismal light of the day began to fade, Cal was pulled out of his head by the vibrating of his wrist communicator. A small light blinked from blue to amber, informing him that his shift was up for the day. He wrapped the copper wires he had been working on in electrical tape and pulled his smaller clamps off the rubber casing. Tomorrow, he’d have to finish this up, otherwise he’d lose precious raw material to trade when this part of the ship was cut off and moved to the wreckage yard. Then he’d never get a chance to go back to it. Droids would find the copper and he’d lose out on getting credits from the guild’s pawn shops. Cal pushed the thought of selling raw material to the people who killed Master Tapal out of his head. It was getting easier, burying the past.   
  
“What took you Cal? You get stuck?” Prauf joked as Cal approached the train station.   
  
“Something like that. I was crawling around in the electrical lines.”   
  
“Hoping for some extra credits in those cables?”   
  
“You know me too well.”   
  
They chatted during the train ride to the settlement both were calling home at the time. As they walked to Prauf’s favorite bar in this part of the scrapyard, rain started to fall. Cal brought his hood up, and walked past a group of four Troopers that were keeping the area in check. Their staticed voices and white armor still giving him a shiver of dread after four years of living on Bracca.   
  
The pair entered the Rusted Belly, a well lit bar that they would meet up at sometimes to catch up. Prauf enjoyed the drinks, while Cal enjoyed having a friendly face outside of work and a chance to pretend that he wasn’t hiding from and working for the very people who would have him killed in a heartbeat. It was nice; to pretend for a few hours with Prauf that he was just a regular scrapper and not a failed Jedi padawan in hiding.   
  
They sat at a small, lit table, the neon lights casting reds, oranges, and blues overhead. A long line of opened shutters gave the patrons a view of the scrapyard beyond the streets. Cal nursed his drink, while Prauf regaled him with the last ship he had worked on and how a new scrapper tried to chuck a perfectly good electrical amplifier to the maw before Prauf rescued it from the waste shuttle and earned himself five extra credits at one of the local swap shops.   
  
“You know what I’ve noticed over the years? We’ve been getting more and more of those Empire Troopers patrolling everything,” Prauf commented, giving a faint nod to a small patrol of troopers passing by. “It’s like they’re looking for something or expecting a riot. Like anyone after a full shift would feel like doing anything like that after a 12 hours in the yard.”   
  
Cal glanced over his shoulder, and quickly turned back to his drink and Prauf as one trooper turned to check the inside of the bar they were in. He felt exposed, and kept his head down.   
  
“Yeah… looking for something.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I just wish we could have spent more time on Bracca. It's such a beautifully designed level, and Cal spent so much time there and we only got about 45 minutes of gameplay if you stretch it out. Need more prologue fics of Cal growing into the boi we all love.


End file.
